


lazy sword-play

by soliloquium



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Fratte, Historical RPF
Genre: Frederick is a player, Frederick just wants to piss off his dad, Gay, I wanted something saucy, M/M, Pro-equality ramblings weren’t that as wide spread back then, Sticky conversations, This might offend people, Warning: paltry attempt at writing, a sorta old fashioned way of speaking, and Katte is cute but not to be under estimated, but he also just really likes dicc, constructive criticism is appreciated, discreet historical gays that are not so discreet, nihilism ? No it’s just general pessimism, ooc-ness & historical inaccuracy galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloquium/pseuds/soliloquium
Summary: In which there are attempts and failures. For Katte; to teach. And for Frederick; to seduce.





	lazy sword-play

**Author's Note:**

> A several month old, 2 AM Drabble written with half awake sanity. An attempt was made
> 
> Apologies, this feels super incomplete and unpolished. I miiiight continue with another chapter if I find the motivation though 
> 
> Either ways, enjoy !!

The man in front of him was easy prey. 

 

It was cruel of Frederick in a sense, to think of humans like so. But it’s not like he was offering his heart and writing sonnets about devotion. No, he was offering his bed and that was an invariable Pandora’s box (poor, unfortunate Peter) and that would have to be consensual.

 

He was certain the tutor in front of him would be more than willing. Frederick continued to stare at him with a hungry, unwavering gaze and the man continued to fluster, his blush deepening to a very unmanly colour.

 

“My lord,” came a very aggravated interruption that made Frederick blink, “my lord, please do listen. This is important information and as the male heir-“

 

A bark of laughter from Frederick. Oh god, this tutor (what was his name. Something terribly generic...) would be fun. 

 

He flushed deeper still and Frederick spied the type of resignated aggressiveness when someone of a higher stature provoked you. It was the type of demeanor Fredrick had been forced to receive since birth and now he merely welcomed it. 

 

“His majesty will be upset...”

 

“His majesty can burn in hell,” Frederick said snipishly, temporarily breaking his amused humor. 

 

Silence filled the room as the gravity of the situation fell upon them. 

 

“My lord, that is treason.”

 

“Very correct, my dear teacher,” Frederick sent him a cold smile, “Are you going to issue a formal complaint against the crown prince.”

 

“Of course not-“

 

“Because who would believe a poor, albeit educated commoner over their heir.”

 

Frederick watched as the man in front of him fumed, his indignation making him almost squawk. Almost. Pity. Raising his feet, he put his boots on the table. Defying authority was a in built habit. Even if it was as much a pretense as this (as if this man had any real power, let alone more power than Frederick). If he was being perfectly honest, it was probably why he was flagarant about his romantic conquestions.

 

The man - he had such nice eyes, Frederick noted gaily - pressed his lips into a thin line and closed the book.

 

Frederick raised a questioning eye brow and after a moment, got his answer. 

 

“I do not believe that my lord nor I shall benefit at all from this charade,” Frederick could see he was struggling with his words. Finding a way to snub nobility without getting beheaded was a very arduous task. 

 

“So you are going to abandon me, peasant, and our blossoming relationship?” An over dramatic gasp, satire to hide his shock. 

 

“My lord, with all due respect, there is no relationship.”

 

“Nonsense,” Frederick waved his hand dismissively, “you wish I bed you. And this isn’t fanciful speech - I see how you stare at me when you think I’m not looking, how you pull away too fast when I reach for your pen, how you shivered under my touch when I straightened your collar. Your blush.”

 

Now his tutor laughed. Loudly. And it was Frederick's turn to be annoyed, however Frederick was allowed to be. 

 

“Mocking your future king is not an advisable strategy.”

 

“Is it now,” he smiled at him, genuinely, and Frederick found part of his armory disarmed, “I thought you laughed at the notion of succeeding the throne.”

 

“Though it’s an idea I abhor, it’s one I shall have to come to terms with.” He responded with the sullen-ness of a child. “Unless my father executed me before then. Which is a very 50-50 chance. So you do not wish for me to bed you?”

 

The man looked stricken, let his eyes wander around the room cautiously as if someone might be listening. 

 

“First of all, that is a sin and second of all,” he leaned in closer, hands on the desk, voice gushing to a mumble, “I would very much prefer to bed someone who did not treat me as a toy.”

 

Frederick stared, “I don’t treat you like a toy.”

 

“You don’t even know my name.”

 

“Of course I do,” a huff, “but you shall repeat it for my benefit anyways because I am your prince.”

 

The man smiled again, infuriatingly so, as if he were talking to a very troublesome child, “Hans, my lord, my name is Hans Herman von Katte.”

 

Frederick tasted the word in his mouth, “Katte...”

 

There was silence, the echo of Katte’s name filling the air broken finally by a clearing of the throat. 

 

Katte piled up his books, “So I suppose this is farewell, my lord.”

 

Pushing himself up on to his feet, Frederick grasped his wrist, “Wait.” Another silent moment of intimacy. There was electricity where their skin met. 

 

“Where will you go,” he said hurriedly, looking away, embarrassed by his own emotions. 

 

Another smile, this one less mocking, “I'd like to teach someone who’d appreciate the knowledge.”

 

The words seemed too cliche to be real. “Oh, so you’re an idealist,” Frederick said with visible disdain. 

 

“A humble idealist. The masses are very low, those that are born into poverty have almost no hope of getting out of it. The system is rigged to let those at the top stay at the top. With very few exceptions. As opposed to poverty, those born into wealth have an almost unfair head start into the world.”

 

“Those like me.”

 

“Yes, those like you,” Katte’s voice was sympathetic though, his eyes like kindmolten silver, “though I won’t deny there are certain grievances that your class must have. You are lonely, aren’t you, my lord?”

 

The words sunk in holding the weight of planets. Frederick felt like he’d be struck. “I’m not lonely,” he said stiffly, “I am a prince. I have a nation at my beck and call.”

 

“And yet here you are with a person a decade older than you, trying to teach you politics. Not very entertaining, I’d expect.”

 

“I think you’d be surprised actually. This peasant is the only one to stand up to me in a long time.” He leaned in then, not noticing that the world was fading away the more he looked at Katte’s face. Their lips were inches apart, then centimeters. Frederick could smell pine and he felt his chest ache from a wound engraved a millennia ago. His movements didn’t feel conscious, it was as if he was being pulled to Katte by a magnet. And he didn’t mind. 

 

But then the spell was broken. Katte stepped away politely and Frederick lips felt stung by rejection. 

 

Katte was still smiling, now more apologetic. How many emotions could one stupid, foolish smile convey. 

 

“Forgive me, my lord,” his voice was cotton, to cushion any wounds, “I do not believe this wise.”


End file.
